Pawn's War
by invictus-hd
Summary: The Exile seeks to forget the horrors of the Mandalorian War. After being sentenced by the Council, Meetra Surik vanishes into the Coruscanti undercity to attempt to live out her life as an ordinary citizen. No one can outrun the past forever, though. Especially when that past involves a Sith Lord or two, and a Jedi Princess. Both K1 and K2 characters, AU.
1. Chapter 1

The Coruscant undercity was a place most would never choose to spend much time in. It was dark, dirty, and seemed to tremble with the hopelessness of millions of inhabitants. Entire generations would live, and die, in the shadows of the glittering city above- never seeing the sky, or feeling a breeze against their skin.

It was a place that the wealthy forgot about. Even the Jedi, in all their pretentious attempts at peace and justice, rarely ventured into the bowels of the urban planet. It was the perfect place to get lost in. The perfect place to hide.

Meetra was just one in a million. One in a Trillion, actually. A single broken soul wouldn't call down the attention of the Council, they thought she was long gone by now. She _should_ have been long gone by now, should have fled republic space, found an inhospitable planet, and crawled into the jungle to die like a wounded kath hound. Luckily for her, the Jedi were so busy looking for Force sensitives, that they'd never notice the presence of someone in which the force didn't exist.

Not on a world of approximately 1.3 Trillion sentient beings.

"Kara." Her companion murmured, slowing his pace. The Exile didn't bother looking at him, continuing down the narrow walkway. "Kara. Are even you listening?" The man, Zaen, snapped, louder this time. It took the woman a moment, but she paused, cursing her inattention. Right. Her new name.

Meetra Surik was dead. The Jedi had killed her, struck her from their records- _exiled_ her. Kara Soran was who she was now. A human, devoid of the Force. One in 1.3 Trillion on this planet.

"Sorry Zaen." She shot her companion an apologetic look, her voice barely audible. "This is lower than we've been in a while." It was creepier than she remembered, too. "What did you say?"

It was something he'd understand. No one liked to be in the lower levels of the undercity when the lights weren't up and running. Which was exactly why the duo was there. Zaen was an ace with gadgets. He could get a machine up and running again with nothing but some old junkyard droid parts, and plasteel tape. Even more invaluable in the undercity: Zaen could fix the lights. Sure, in the mid city, and very upper levels of the lower city, a busted light was an inconvenience. It would be replaced in a day or ten by Republic Maintenance crews. In the undercity, where mutants, criminals and the insane were prevalent, a broken light could make the difference between life and death. The day that Hutts sprouted wings and flew, was the day Kara expected to see any maintenance crews in the undercity. So it fell to the inhabitants to repair the broken lights.

For a price (even good guys have to eat) Zaen could fix most any light in a matter of minutes. Two years ago, and nearly two years after Kara had first descended into the undercity, the exile had rescued a certain middle aged mechanic from a pack of murderous Hive Rats. They'd been a team ever since, splitting the meager profits and sharing the danger. It felt good to be doing something to help people, even if it didn't make the nightmares stop.

Zaen nodded, cracking a wry smile. "I _said_ we can't get eaten today. You owe me a drink." The man grinned roguishly, brown eyes full of amusement. Jobs that paid much of anything had been rare lately, it was easy to guess where he'd be that evening. Apparently the same place she'd be. Some seedy, underworld Cantina.

"Watered down Bantha piss, you mean." Kara grumbled back good naturedly, her fingers curling more tightly around the glow-rod in her hand. The hair on the nape of her neck prickled, causing the woman to look sharply back in the direction they'd come from. Flickering lights behind them illuminated the thin walk way, and the constant mechanical buzz of the planet went undisturbed. They were alone.

"Everything okay?" Zaen asked, pulling out his own glow-rod and peering into the darkness in front of them. A pair of glowing eyes stared out, causing Zaen to leap back with a startled yelp. Kara whirled at the sound, blaster drawn.

The glowing eyes emitted a soft 'maow', causing the former Jedi to guffaw at her companion. "Is everything okay?" She repeated back teasingly, holstering her blaster. "Wouldn't want you to get eaten by a vicious kitten." The man sputtered indignantly, before huffing and setting down his toolbox.

"No." He groused, reaching for the panel that controlled this stretch of lights, and prying the door open. He pushed his mop of dark hair back from his face, worn hands already dancing across the multitude of wires that crisscrossed within the terminal. The kitten meowed again, trotting towards them with it's bushy grey tail held high. "Wouldn't want that at all."

* * *

"That thing is not staying in my house!"

"Come _on_ Zaen, she's precious!"

"There's no telling what sort of diseases it has." The mechanic snapped, turning to glower at Kara and the kitten that was wriggling in her arms.

It hadn't taken them very long to get the lights up and working again, but in that short time, Kara had made a new friend- much to the irritation of her partner. The kitten was currently quite content in the Exile's care, batting playfully at the long strands of copper hair that spilled over the woman's shoulders. Admittedly, Kara didn't contend the fact that the kitten probably had some sort of parasite, and needed to be tossed in the sonic the moment they got home. After the war, dirt and bugs didn't particularly bother her, though. There really wasn't much that could shock her anymore.

Zaen didn't know that though. Meetra Surik wasn't a name he probably even knew. There was only one reason for anyone from the undercity to be interested in the war: enlisting. One of the few ways anyone could get out of the poverty of the lowest parts of the undercity. When you were done serving, the idea was that you could find a peaceful planet, where land was plentiful and cheap, save the money to move your whole family there. It was the dream of millions. Meetra would know, she'd been in command of so many of them. She also knew that usually the uneducated, illiterate soldiers from the undercities of planets like Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa and Taris were the ones sent in droves into the heat of battle. They were almost always landing forces, front lines. They took the heaviest casualties.

Kara shivered, jostling the kitten in her arms. It meowed in protest, rubbing it's head against her sleeve. The vast majority of the young men and women who'd flocked to the Republic in the Mandalorian war from the undercity had never come back. The families were lucky if anyone even bothered to venture down here to tell them what'd become of their children, siblings, loved ones. "She'd be useful." The former Jedi traced the kitten's back with her fingers. Not being useful as anything but cannon fodder had doomed a generation, leaving aging parents to starve to death here in the undercity when they couldn't work anymore. "Cats hunt pests." Being useful was the difference between life and death for so many. "We have pests." Her voice was quiet, fingers still tracing a line down the prominent ridge of the kitten's spine.

Her companion looked at her oddly then, full of an intuition that touched too close to the truth. "Fine." He muttered, leaving the matter alone. He'd ask eventually, why it mattered so much- but for now he held his tongue. They were an odd pair. Him, a middle aged man who'd lived his whole life in squalor and darkness, and her a young woman who could shoot like a champ, speak six languages, and still screamed in her sleep every so often. Kara knew he didn't believe she'd been born here, people born here barely spoke Basic. But he was kind enough not to pry much. "You still owe me a drink." Zaen pointed out, the tension in the air vanishing as quickly as it'd come. Things returned to normalcy in an instant, and the woman grinned cheekily at her friend.

"Bantha piss."

"Better than that Wookie drool you drink." He retorted, his face crinkling as he grinned back at her, clambering up the walkways and onto a higher platform before reaching back to help her up.

"What are we gonna call her?" Kara smirked, ignoring his hand and climbing up easily.

"Oh Force. Pateesa schutta."

"...Hey!"


	2. Chapter 2

Kara reached for the door- images of a Sonic, some food and her bed dancing through her tired brain. Before she could get that far though, Zaen stepped in front of her, looking intently at the as-of-yet nameless kitten. "Don't let that thing get into anything before it's been through the sonic." He palmed the security panel, and the door slid open. "I mean it, Kara. If I wake up covered in duracrete fleas, that cat is gonna become stew meat." The Exile nodded mutely, which seemed to satisfy him for the moment. With a huff, the large man stalked into their shared home, leaving his bemused room mate trailing behind him.

Zaen had to turn sideways to fit through the entrance hallway, and even Kara only had a few inches of clearance on either side of her shoulders. Space was at a premium on Coruscant, and it showed. The hallway opened up to a cramped interior, with mismatched pieces of furniture scattered about. She toed off her boots, her hole-riddled socks offering little protection from the sudden chill of the worn floor. Moving through the cramped kitchen, Zaen shoved the table away from the wall to clear a path large enough to walk through into the next room. Kara followed right on his heels into the living area. From there she inched around the sofa, and into the hallway that led to the refresher. They were fortunate to have their own, even if the sink only had cold water that smelled like a swamp, and the sonic shower had a tendency of cutting out. Many people in the undercity had to make do with communal, or pay-by-the-minute fresher units, especially in the oldest buildings that still had water showers. Clean water was a valuable commodity. Hot clean water was all but unheard of down here.

Behind her, the sofa groaned as Zaen settled down onto it, dropping his tool kit unceremoniously on the floor with a clang. Un-bothered, he reached to turn on the holo- seemingly oblivious to the furniture's supports protesting his every movement. Kara snorted, shaking her head as she watched him. It'd been like that since she moved in. One day the whole kriffing thing was going to come crashing down, probably while _she_ was sitting on it. A smile tugged at her lips, a memory from a lifetime ago springing into her mind.

_"Meetra Surik...You were in Jedi Service Corps?" Knight Revan asked from the other side of the room, sounding incredulous. "So you failed your initiate tests?" He turned to his companion. "Malak, you can't be serious, I know we're hurting for numbers but-"_

_CRACK._

_The legs of the chair that Revan had been perched on suddenly gave way, sending the large man tumbling onto the floor. He sat there for a long moment, stunned. Meetra glared across at one of her former idols, finding herself unnervingly incensed at his assumption- angry enough to break his chair from across the room. The stare down was interrupted by Revan's booming laugh._

_"I like her, Mal."_

Zaen looked up from his Holo program, catching his room mate's vacant stare. "It's a curse being so devilishly handsome." The man smirked, calling Kara back to reality, and chuckling when she blushed. "Credit for your thoughts?" He asked, noting the distant look that lingered on her face even after she'd returned to the present.

"It's nothing." The woman lied smoothly, knowing full well he didn't buy it. "Zaen...Thank you." She murmured, feeling stupidly sentimental. He looked up at her, wanting to ask, but smart enough to let it go. "Just don't leave any cat hair in the damn Sonic."

Kara laughed, finally slipping into the 'fresher and closing the door behind her.

* * *

When Kara re-emerged, the gritty gray kitten, was no longer gritty gray. Now white with orange spots, she slunk out the door with her tail puffed up, none too happy about the humiliating experience she'd just endured. Zaen watched her come into the living room, seemingly satisfied with the cleanliness he witnessed. His brown eyes wandered up to his room mate, a question on his lips. It died there though, as the man took in Kara's disheveled appearance. Her copper hair stuck up in places, from the cat attempting to climb her, and there was a series of scratches on her face and hands. After a long moment of gaping at her he burst into a set of stifled coughs, that she imagined was actually tactfully controlled laughter. "I take it she didn't agree with the sonic." The man let out with a laugh, the sound echoing loudly in the small room. Kara glowered, dabbing at her bloodied cheek with the back of one equally bloodied hand.

"To put it mildly."

"You can tell everyone you fought a savage Wookie with your bare hands."

"I'd never tell people you're a savage." Kara shot back, flopping down next to her friend, wincing as the sofa trembled under their combined weight. After a tense moment, it seemed like the threadbare piece of furniture would in fact hold, and the woman tucked her feet under her. In all honesty she couldn't blame the kitten for feeling so strongly against sonic showers. In compare to an actual water shower, a sonic was pretty sub par. You just didn't feel clean. There was something to be said for hot water, it soothed in a way that sonic vibrations never could. How long had it been since she'd had a real shower? Six years? Seven? Maybe more. Sighing, the exile nestled down- watching the kitten clamber into Zaen's lap out of the corner of her eye.

Big softie.

Turning her attention back to the holo, Kara's brows rose- green eyes cutting across to Zaen. "The Galactic News?" She queried. "Since when do we watch the news?" In the two years she'd lived with the man, she could count the number of times they'd watched the news on one hand- and still have a couple of fingers to spare. What happened out there...didn't matter here. Coruscant was both a safe haven, and a prison. Undercity residents tended to be refugees, fleeing destruction. Both human and aliens were subject to the same fate once they reached the sparkling planet. Without the credits to stay on the surface, they vanished from sight into the the depths of Republic City. They were no longer the problem of the upworlders, and crime ran rampant in the lowest levels. Once you were in the lower city, it was difficult to get out. The fact you were a lower city citizen often barred you from upper city jobs, transport off world wasn't cheap, and you had to have paperwork to travel between the upper and lower cities. It was a desolate situation for millions.

"Have to check in on the war effort occasionally." Zaen joked, though his good humor looked forced. Kara bit her lip but didn't object, turning her attention back to the news anchor in front of her. Images of destruction flashed one after the other- a planet that was glowing with fire, large sections of the atmosphere blackened by smoke, an all too familiar sight. Orbiting the planet, evacuation vessels drifted aimlessly, some with gaping holes clearly visible._"The outer rim planet of Telos IV has been devastated by former Jedi Revan and Malak's Sith forces."_ Kara's entire body stiffened, anger pulsing through her. Those cowards. Attacking a civilian target... The Telos system had no military bases that she knew of. To obliterate an unarmed planet. It was unthinkable. The woman she'd been wanted to fume, rage against the wrongness of it all. Meetra Surik had grown up looking up to Revan, first as a talented Knight, and later as a visionary. He was kind, and caring, and wanted what was best for the Republic. He hated slavery, he fought for the weak... and when he kissed you it was like everything was-

Kara hissed under her breath, instantly pulling herself out of that train of thought. Kara Soran didn't know a flagship from a cargo scuttle, a lightsaber from a kitchen knife. It was Meetra Surik who cared about this. _Meetra Surik_ loved Revan, and it'd gotten her killed. _"As of Galactic standard time 18:00 rescue attempts have been called off. Conditions on the planet's surface remain too dangerous for evacuation teams. The Republic Census estimates the death toll to be in the millio-"_ The holo shut off abruptly, and Kara glanced across to her room mate, who had the remote clenched between white knuckled fingers. "I think that's enough news for today." Zaen murmured, rising and dumping the kitten off his lap.

"We should go get that drink." He continued, already making for the door.

She couldn't agree more.

* * *

The cantina was easily the most lively business in this district. Kara imagined that every district was like that. It seemed no one had anything better to do than come down to the cantina to drink, and play pazaak when the day was done. Zaen held the door open for her, letting her slip in from the poorly lit exterior, to the even more poorly lit interior. Ducking through a gaudy curtain, the exile paused for a moment. Something seemed off somehow. Around her, all sorts of aliens and human species alike crowded at the bar, laughing and hollering in a multitude of languages. Others sat in booths lining the walls, daring to eat here. Several Twi'lek and human women skulked around scantily clad. She could smell death sticks faintly, the rancid sweet scent made her stomach roil. Short of murder, almost anything went in the undercity. Drugs, prostitution and possibly slavery all out in the open like this was not a new phenomenon.

Realizing she'd lost sight of Zaen, the woman stood on her toes, peering around the room. Damn it. Around her voices buzzed, making the former Jedi uneasy. Four years ago, she would have been able to sense if someone was sneaking up on her with a blaster in hand. Now... well, she relied on being overly paranoid, and that uneasy feeling still hadn't left.

Spotting her friend at the bar, Kara made her way quickly through the crowd. Upon getting closer, she began to catch tidbits of the conversation. "You should see her face." Zaen laughed, winking at a thoroughly enchanted, and reasonably attractive human woman. "I thought we were goners for sure."

She couldn't take him anywhere.

Sliding into the seat next to him, the exile motioned the barkeep. There was nothing about the alcohol in the undercity that was good. In fact, to drink it one almost had to already be drunk. A challenging little problem. Zaen didn't seem to share her opinion of the local swill- knocking a drink back with a disturbing amount of ease. "So what did you save me from this time?" Kara leaned in to ask her cohort under her breath.

"Hive rat." The man answered, gesturing to the cat scratches on her face and beaming at the woman, who seemed reasonably impressed by this infallible evidence.

"That's getting a bit used isn't it?"

"If it ain't broke..."

"Fair enough."

The next several hours were spent relating the day's adventure, with some pretty heavy liberties taken by both parties. The more of an audience they accumulated, the more grand an adventure it'd been. At one point, Kara may have even wrestled a savage Wookie into submission.

Despite all the laughter, and even a drink or two, the woman couldn't shake her unease. She caught herself continually checking over her shoulder, and peering into the darkest corners of the bar. "Zaen." She murmured, as their audience began to disburse. Slightly intoxicated, her companion looked at her quizzically. "I think we should go home." The former Jedi continued, glancing about once more. Something just wasn't right. It tugged at the edges of her awareness, frustratingly vague. The woman brushed her hair back out of her face, restlessly fidgeting as she leaned against the bar.

"Like a wife." Zaen muttered theatrically- earning a chuckle from the bartender and a sharp look from his companion. "Exactly." He continued, pointedly. With a breathy laugh, the mechanic rose from his seat, dropping a couple of credits on the bar, and giving the barkeep a long-suffering look. Kara snorted impatiently at his show, earning laughs from several of the remaining customers.

"Fine, fine. I'm coming." Zaen placated, following his room mate as she swept from the cantina. He caught up to her easily once they were outside- his longer legs closing the distance that her haste had created. "Where's the fire?" He joked, letting the door fall shut behind him.

"It's nothing." She lied, peering down towards the walkway beneath theirs. Overhead the lights flickered, buzzing monotonously. The sound reminded her of a swarm of barbflies, a constant resonating buzz. There was never silence in the undercity. The only time anything was quiet was when you'd lived here long enough to tune out everything but the unfamiliar. The distant roar of the great machines, the hum of electrical circuits, the groan of buildings the size of mountains... it all started to sound like nothing after a while.

Zaen's eyes followed hers for a moment, noting that a few of the lights looked a bit more dim than he'd like- before he looked back to Kara. "That's the second time you've said that tonight." The man pointed out, irritation beginning to color his voice. "It obviously is something."

The exile winced at the accusation, knowing she'd brought it on herself. The more time she spent with anyone, the more lies there were. The bigger the web got, the easier it was to get tangled up in it. What was she supposed to tell him? That Telos IV was burning because of something she could have stopped? That if she was a Jedi worth anything, she would have felt Revan taking the wrong path, and she would have stopped it?

The truth was, she wasn't sure she would have stopped it. She'd been much like Revan and Malak during the war. Young, and brash, questioning the wisdom of the council, the validity of the Jedi teachings... It was the Jedi that had denied her a Master, leaving her to float from teacher to teacher. A Padawan's bond with a Master was like the bond of a child and parent. Kavar's informal teaching of her, had struck a harsh blow on Meetra as a child. Harsher still when he left to fight in the first skirmishes of the Mandalorian War, rendering her unable to take her initiate tests. Had she a Master's guidance, instead of a rotating line of temporary mentors, it's possible she never would have left Dantooine, never been recruited by Malak.

She'd be in the temple now, a Knight - ready to mentor her first Padawan.

A sigh pulled from Kara's lips, her green eyes rising to meet Zaen's. "I'm sorry." She said, reaching to touch his shoulder. "It's just... Telos." A lie, but the closest she could get to the truth. "All those people." That she was responsible in part for. "It's so..." The woman trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"Unnecessary." Zaen ground out, finishing the thought that she'd left hanging. Kara nodded mutely in response, waiting for him to clamber across a particularly rickety walkway before following. The metal groaned beneath her weight, making her all to conscious of how heavy and slow she felt without the Force.

"The Sith are winning this war." The mechanic continued, starting down a set of stairs, his boots clanging on the plasteel beneath his feet. He was more graceful than she, knew this district of the undercity like the back of his hand. A thousand times over he'd pointed out some danger that she'd not noticed. A hole in a walkway, a broken support beam, a ladder with rusted rungs. It all made her feel so very helpless. "And the Republic's precious Jedi flock to the Sith by the dozens, or worse- do nothing." Zaen scoffed, not noticing Kara tense. It was a commonly held view, after all. The Jedi had waited too long to get into the Mandalorian War, and then those who had gone, had turned and attacked the Republic.

Kara couldn't say she blamed people for their distrust. She couldn't blame Zaen. What had the Jedi ever done for him?

Above them, the walkways twisted and wound, ever higher. She knew that somewhere above them, there was a ceiling of sorts. Closer to the surface, there were enclosed levels, instead of rickety walkways, stairs and tunnels. What she wouldn't give to be able to look up and see even a sliver of sunshine coming down. Instead all she saw was rows of artificial light, eventually plunging into darkness. "No one is perfect, Zaen." It was said as nonchalantly as she could manage, the subject a tired one between the friends.

"Don't tell me you're defending them."

"I'm not. But no one is perfect. The Jedi have served the Republic for centuries." She shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm telling you Kara, those people are bad news. **All** of them. They're ticking time bombs, and when they explode, they go evil and try to destroy the Galaxy. We've seen it over, and over and over."

"You're wrong."

The pair fell into awkward silence- both parties thoroughly annoyed. The only sound for the next several minutes was the soft clunk of their boots against the walkway as it turned into duracrete. Zaen opened the door into their building without a word, letting it slam closed behind her. He stiffened, looking exasperatedly at her, and then back down the hall. She followed his gaze, her eyes widening.

_Meow._

"You didn't lock the kriffing door, Kara." The man snapped as the familiar orange spotted kitten trotted down the hall towards them. He brushed past her, but the former Jedi grabbed his shoulder, keeping him from going farther. He shook her off, only to be grabbed again.

"Zaen." Kara hissed insistently, her free hand moving towards her holstered blaster. "I _locked_ the door." There was no question in her mind that she had.

"Apparently not, if someone just waltzed in and-" He was cut off by the woman shushing him. The kitten wound around his ankles, it's furry tail puffed up in obvious agitation. "Kar-" He started again, nudging the kitten away with his foot.

The Exile was already creeping down the hall, her blaster drawn. It wasn't her preferred weapon of choice, but a lightsaber was a tricky thing without the Force to guide her. Not to mention, attention drawing. The number one thing she'd learned in her first year in the undercity, was to never act like a Jedi. Not when she couldn't defend herself like one.

Vaguely she was aware that Zaen had joined her, his own weapon at the ready. Her sole focus was on what might be waiting around the bend in the hall. Already she could smell the arid scent of blaster plasma, smoke, and charred metal. The only comfort was that the hum of a lightsaber was missing from the equation. They'd both be dead in an instant if it was a force user, after all.

It all happened so fast.

Zaen's boot scuffed against the floor- and instantly there was a mechanical whir in response, followed by clanking footsteps. After enough years in war, the sound was as familiar to the Exile as her own heartbeat.

She'd already opened fire by the time the battle droid came around the corner. It regarded them for a careful moment, head tilted, it's armor deflecting several blaster bolts- before it raised it's repeater. The woman heard Zaen curse in the background, but barely had enough time to register it, before the droid began shooting, the heavy weapon practically making the room vibrate as it discharged.

Kara dove to the ground, rolling to her feet and taking aim at the droid from a crouch. Her first shot went incredibly wide, bouncing off the wall several feet away from her target. Her second shot wasn't much better, barely putting a dent in the heavy armor. She didn't have a chance to take a third shot, as the droid turned with her, ignoring Zaen entirely. It raised it's weapon, and Kara threw herself to the side—crying out in pain as the bolt intended for her chest, burned across her shoulder. Her blaster clattered to the ground as she fell, skidding out of reach. The exile wiggled towards it, the sudden pain in her shoulder making black spots parade across her vision.

At one time, it would have been all too easy to propel her weapon back into her open hand. Instead, Kara found herself scrabbling across the floor on her hands and knees, leaving a smear of blood in her wake. Fingers outstretched, the former Jedi threw herself towards the blaster on the floor with everything she had. It wasn't fast enough though. It _never_ was anymore. Two blaster shots rang out in the narrow hallway. An inevitable end.

The pain didn't come though. Her body continued to move, numb fingers closing around the hilt of her blaster. Trembling, Kara brought it up just in time to see the droid shudder and lower it's weapon, Zaen standing behind it.

A moment later, the crash of the droid falling to the ground made the floor beneath her shake. She could hear her partner yelling her name, seconds before his hands wrapped under her and yanked her up. The sudden motion made her yelp as he put pressure on her injured arm. "Kara... **Kriff**. Kar, you're bleeding." The man panted, peering at her shoulder, and then into her face.

"I'm fine. It just grazed me." Kara responded, blinking as her head slowly cleared.

He didn't seem convinced though, and proceeded to check the rest of her for injuries. When Zaen was finally satisfied that she was in fact alive and well, he left her side and went to stand next to the remains of the droid. Kara followed more slowly. From where they were, the pair could also now see the remnants of their door. It'd been blasted and then pried open, the metal was twisted and warped, and the control panel a mess of smoking wires.

"It's not a Republic droid. At least not what they're using these days." Zaen muttered, crouching beside the sleet colored droid.

Kara took a moment to take in the machine. It was large. It had to be the size of a man, taller than her certainly. For the most part, it was covered in heavy plating- something she'd expect to see in a battle droid. There were only a few places were the plating opened to allow flexibility, or allow heat to escape. The side of it's head was melted away from blaster bolts. It'd turned to shoot at her, leaving Zaen a wide open, armor free shot. Luckily for her.

"I think it's an assassin droid, of some sort." The man continued, inspecting the remains. "It probably has specific programming to kill it's target and self destruct." Her companion looked up from his examination of the droid, with a grim smile. "If it was given a target, I can possibly find out who sent it." He pulled a few wires loose, giving the droid's head a good jerk. The metal screeched as it's head came away from it's body. "All the information we really need will be in the cortex processors." Zaen explained, tucking the head into his bag and picking up the upper body with a grunt. "Here, help me drag the rest inside." He gave her a sheepish look. "We could eat for a month off what we'd get selling that blaster. That's not even counting the droid plating, the motors, the scrap metal..." The man shrugged. "Unless you fancy trying to do the right thing and returning it to it's rightful owners."

The Exile scoffed. Right. Return it to whoever was trying to kill her.

Moving toward the droid's legs Kara gave her companion a searching look. "How do you know so much about droids?" She understood knowing about circuits, about lights, about doors. That was life or death stuff down here. Droids though... there weren't many droids in the undercity.

With a strained huff, the woman grabbed the lower half of the droid and hoisted it to waist level. She instantly regretted the move as her shoulder protested, but held onto the legs with white knuckled hands despite the pain.

Shuffling down the hallway and clambering through the ruined door, there was an awkward silence- Zaen seemingly ignoring her question. When they finally set the droid down in the middle of their living quarters, he wiped his hands on his pants and leveled her with a stare. Kara instantly looked away guiltily-watching the kitten gingerly clamber through the hole that was now their front door.

"Why don't I answer that **after** you tell me why someone wants you dead?" Her companion said, settling down onto the creaky sofa and propping his feet onto the deactivated droid.

"I..." Kara started, looking back to him and trying to come up with something.

"Don't lie to me."

She paused, weighing her options. At this point, it was either tell him, or leave. "Alright." The exile sighed. This was home, she wanted to stay. "But... you can't get mad until I'm done."

"Deal."

**A/N – Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. Your encouragement motivated me to get off my butt and actually write, haha. I'm not sure where I'm going as far as pairings and which characters will show up from both games. I can tell you that there will probably be more Kotor 1 characters than 2. If you have any suggestions or requests, let me know, I might have been thinking the same thing! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - I made a few mods to chapter 2, so those of you who've already read it, you might want to reread the last fourth or so. Otherwise, enjoy and thank you very much to my lovely reviewers. 3 If you have any suggestions or ideas, feel free to let me know. **

"I'm just going to start at the beginning." Kara said quietly, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. Zaen immediately stood up, gesturing for her to continue. She was silent for a moment, listening to his footsteps in the kitchen, and the rummaging through cupboards that followed. "You might want to sit down." The woman advised, after a long silence, uncomfortable with talking to someone she couldn't see.

Zaen came back into the living room with an ancient med-kit, and stood beside her. "I guarantee you, I've heard worse. Just keep talking, and hold still." He said, gesturing for her to raise her arms over her head. She did so, warily, only to have him grab the hem of her shirt and pull the whole thing off in a swift, single jerk. Kara yelped as fibers that had burned into the skin of her shoulder took a fairly sizable patch of flesh with the garment. A glare followed her oblivious room mate as he knelt beside her, mopping up the fresh flow of blood with what looked like their kitchen rag. He obviously wasn't the same calibre medic as he was mechanic.

Force, she was going to get some awful disease and lose her arm.

"My name is Meetra Surik." Kara continued hesitantly, watching his reaction. He seemed more absorbed in stemming the trickle of blood from her shoulder, than in her dialogue. Part of her hoped the name would be self explanatory. She knew it'd been reported, she was no Revan, but maybe...

"Meetra." Zaen started, making Kara flinch. It sounded so...odd, coming from him. No one had called her that in literally years. "So, Meetra, what did you do?" The man pulled back, surveying his handiwork, before glancing up to her face. "Skip out on a charge? Get in gambling debt on Nar'Shaada? Not pay your pimp?" He raised his hands in placation as she sputtered indignantly at him.

"No! ...And don't call me Meetra." Kara snapped, her cheeks pinkening. The woman was suddenly very glad of her undershirt. This whole situation would be infinitely more awkward in less clothing. "It's weird."

"So..." Her room mate pressed, pouring some sort of liquid that bubbled and fizzed over her wound. A nice tingly numb feeling set in almost immediately.

"I'm not really from Tattooine..." Kara supplied lamely, genuinely unsure of how to start.

Zaen gave her a dry look in response, his eyebrows creeping towards his hairline. "I'm not _that_ thick." The man shot back, prodding at her wound. "Your Basic is flawless, you speak way too many languages to be some backwater nerfher- _**Kriff**_."

"What?"

Kara craned her neck to get a better look at her shoulder, wincing at the breadth of the wound. It was bigger than she'd thought, deeper too- and now bleeding very profusely. "What did you do?!" The woman shrieked, jerking away as blood ran down her arm, pooling in the crease of her elbow.

"Nothing!" Zaen snapped, grabbing her back and pressing the towel back to her arm. "It's just deeper than it looked! I'm going to bandage you up to stop the bleeding, we'll check on it in the morning and see about getting to a clinic." He was already wrapping her arm in some questionably old bandages from the med-kit.

"You're not from Tattooine, your name isn't Kara. Tell me something I don't know." Zaen pulled back one final time, after having knotted the ridiculous gauze ball he'd created on her arm. Kara was pretty sure that there were Duracrete Slugs out there that could tie a better bandage, but the woman managed a thankful smile at her friend, inwardly preparing for the worst.

"I was a Jedi."

"Yeah." He laughed. "And I'm a Wookie Chieftain. Seriously Kara."

"Zaen..."

He fell silent, turning to face her with alarmed eyes.

Kara tried not to look at him, instead just plunging on.

"I was one of Revan's Generals in the Mandalorian War." She heard him suck in a sharp breath, and chanced a look in his direction. Across the sofa Zaen was sitting completely still, as if he'd stopped breathing. "You said you wouldn't get mad till I was done." Kara reminded, her voice traveling up a pitch in her sudden gut wrenching nervousness.

"That was before you told me you were one of Revan's pet Jedi!"

"I followed a different man into war, than the one that exists now, Zaen! He... he wanted to save the Republic, he was tired of seeing the suffering of millions at the hands of the Mandalorians." Kara replied with a quiet urgency.

"You're defending him!" Her companion protested, fixing her with a look of disbelief.

"I'm defending who he _used_ to be. There's a difference. _Trust me**,**_ Zaen." Kara took a deep breath, before continuing on. "The Jedi Council wouldn't change their position on the War, so even those of us who wanted to help... our hands were tied. Until Revan began to rally the Jedi to help the Republic, against the Council's wishes." A slightly sad look flickered across the woman's face. "We were young. **I** was young. At the time, war seemed so noble. Revan's cause seemed like everything a Jedi was _supposed_ to stand for. By the time I realized what was happening to him... it was too late."

"His Sith have killed Millions. **Millions**, Kara." Her companion snarled, jumping to his feet so quickly he nearly unseated himself.

"I-"

"How can you sit there and talk about what a good and noble person he was?!"

"He-" She tried again.

"There's no difference, he was probably _always_ a monster, just waiting for his chance to-"

"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT HE'S DONE?!" It was Kara who cut him off this time, her voice deafening in the small room. "I. Was. There. Zaen." The Exile spat through gritted teeth. "The more control of the fleet he had, the more his tactics became about winning. No matter the cost. I watched my men die. _I_ _nearly died. _He sent us to our deaths on Onderon. **Ten** of my men, for every kriffing Mandalorian. I felt them DIE."

Kara took a deep breath, struggling with her composure. It'd been years since she'd felt like this, since she'd let the past get her so worked up. The last time she'd lost it and yelled, had probably been during the Council's so-called trial of her. The questions, accusations, and commentary leading up to her exile had been brutal. She could still all but hear Atris' voice. Her old mentor had accused her of many things, most of them untrue. One of the few true things that had been thrown on the table was her supposed relationship with Revan. More humiliating, Kavar- the only mentor she'd ever considered like a Master to her, hadn't said a thing in her defense.

If she'd had an ounce of force-power left in her, she might have very well went back to Revan. If for nothing more than the satisfaction of seeing the look on Atris' face.

"He was a good man, once." The former Jedi added quietly, taking advantage of the silence. She wouldn't- _couldn't_ believe otherwise. It hadn't all been an act. It just couldn't have been. Zaen didn't know him like she'd known him.

Her room mate looked at her for a long moment, but chose not to comment. Whether he agreed, or just sensed that she wouldn't budge on the issue was unclear. "Revan took his Jedi, and his soldiers, and they came back attacking the Republic. Why are _you_ different?" His tone had softened, though only slightly and there was genuine question in his brown eyes.

Kara sighed. It always came back to this. The Council had asked the same thing, albeit less politely.

"I never fell to the dark side." Her voice was tired-more tired than any 28 year old had any right to sound. "I was severely wounded in one of the final battles of the war. Revan... sent me back to the Jedi." The admission stung her more than it probably should have, after so many years. What exactly would she have done if Revan hadn't let her go back? Served his caffa? Done his evil laundry? Flounced around his flagship in a metal bikini?

To be honest, she was surprised he hadn't killed her.

Sometimes she wished he had.

"Which doesn't explain why you're here, and not sitting in some pretty marble room somewhere- meditating on the state of the galaxy."

"The wound wasn't physical. Not completely anyway." Kara flexed her fingers, wishing she could feel the invisible hum of the Force just one more time. "I lost my connection with the Force." The exile paused, fidgeting. "I'm as much of a Jedi now as Vogga the Hutt."

Another silence fell between them, him looking at her warily.

"And the Jedi... they couldn't just... fix you?"

"I went against their wishes. This probably seemed like a fitting punishment to them. They've expunged me from their records." Bitterness colored the words. "Officially, I no longer exist."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Zaen moved from where he was standing, settling back on the sofa tensely. He wasn't looking at her, instead focused on the damaged droid at their feet. "So what are you doing here?"

"I just told you." Kara said, exasperation edging into her voice.

"No, I mean _here_." He gestured around them. "The undercity." The older man pinned her with his gaze, a sudden excitement pooling in his eyes. "You could be a massive help to the war effort!"

Kara stiffened, looking away from him. "If you think I'm just going to waltz back to-"

"You know Revan, you know his strategies!"

"Which is the entire reason I've put nearly a galaxy between us."

"You could save countless lives."

"More likely die a slow, painful death."

"Coward." Zaen ground out suddenly, looking almost apologetic about even saying it.

Kara froze, shooting him a murderous look. "What do you want me to do Zaen." The Exile hissed, unreasonably angry. She knew he was right. "Revan probably won't let me live next time he sees me, I _know_ Malak wants me dead. The Jedi Council wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire, and the Republic might very well decide to charge me with war crimes after all! Where do you propose I go?"

"I don't know. But I do know you can't hide down here forever." He gestured at the droid on the floor- it's headless body an unpleasant reminder of their evening adventure. "Your problems aren't going to stop following you."

The woman sighed, pulling her legs up to her chest. "I'm tired of war, Zaen." Kara murmured- feeling very, very old. "At eighteen, fighting sounds exciting. Saving the galaxy, being a hero to the Republic. Proving someone wrong about what you're capable of." She shook her hair out of her face, lowering her head into her hands. "The Jedi wanted me to teach. I wanted to fight. Now, I'd give _anything_ to sit down with a group of laughing younglings, and teach them a new way to feel the Force."

"If you don't do something, there might not _be_ any younglings left to teach." Her companion intoned softly, a grim look on his weathered face.

Kara didn't reply, simply nodded her quiet agreement. She knew. The Jedi had taken heavy losses in both wars. The Republic seemed to look on the order as infinitely numbered. They weren't. Masters taught students- and then were replaced by the very students they'd taught. The image of one of her young students raced through her mind, bringing a nostalgic smile to Kara's lips for an instant. His name had been lost to time, but she remembered his smile- the way he'd clung to every word she'd said about feeling the Force in the world around you. She'd been so young then, a child really, teaching the youngest of their order through games and play, and stories. He'd be a padawan now, she was sure, maybe 18 at the most. Would he be sent to fight Revan alongside his master? To die at the hands of more experienced, more powerful warriors?

The woman looked across at her friend, her green eyes meeting his. She knew she couldn't stay. She'd known that since the moment that Zaen had called the droid an assassain. Whoever had sent that thing, would probably send something much more deadly next. Kara wouldn't allow him to get caught in the cross fire. No one should have to die in the crossfire.

Not Zaen, not her sandy haired youngling. No one.

Her mind made up, Kara stood slowly- mindful of her blaster wound. Zaen was watching her expectantly. She half had the mind to say she was going to bed, and leave her friend hanging.

There was a million ways this could end badly for her.

"I'll do it."

"Kar-"

"But." Kara cut him off with a dark look. "Only if we can do it without my name. I'd like to avoid drawing the attention of anyone. Including whoever sent that droid."

"Deal."

"I mean it Zaen. If this starts to go south, I'm getting on the first transport out to Tatooine, to live out my days as a hermit."

No one was going to fight over that Hutt infested dustball.


	4. Chapter 4

Coruscant was a bit more dangerous than Jaq preferred.

Not that the place was crawling with Jedi, mind you- their numbers were stretched very thin, and even the Grand Masters of the council had been caught up in the war. It left the planet relatively unguarded by the so-called guardians of the peace.

Still, despite being so few and far between, this planet had more Jedi than he'd have liked.

Though to be fair, _any_ Jedi was more Jedi than Jaq would have liked. The Galaxy would be a better place without the Jedi- with their self righteousness, their lies, their hypocrisy.

He hated them. He hated them for every dirty, dark little secret they kept, every horrible thing they did while claiming it was the right thing to do. It was so very clear to those who bothered paying attention, that the Jedi only ever 'did the right thing' when it served their purpose.

It was why the slaughter of the Mandalorian War had lasted so, so long. It was why so many of his friends had come home in body bags.

Or worse- not at all.

The Jedi refused to leave the safety of their marble floored palace in the Capital, all-the-while preaching peace and parading as defenders of the light.

He scoffed, ducking into an access elevator that would take him into the lower levels. Defenders of the light. Right. And he was a new strain of hairless Wookie.

The lift stopped with a shudder, letting the Sith out far below the spires of the glittering upper world. The doors opened and Jaq stepped into the bustling street as if he'd lived there his whole life. On either side of the walkway street vendors peddled their wares in front of neon signed shops. He paid them little attention though, simply pressing through the crowd and towards another elevator that would take him down further. Mid Coruscant reminded him of Nar Shaddaa. It had the same mixed demographic of people who didn't quite make enough to live somewhere nicer, and criminals who stayed by choice.

He would have been right at home on Nar Shaddaa. It wasn't called the smuggler's moon for nothing, crime was an accepted and welcomed aspect of daily life. Coruscant though... there was just something about the capital that made him uneasy. Jedi aside. There were just too many _normal_ people. Too many people who, unlike the people on Nar Shaddaa, might not be willing to turn a blind eye, especially if it involved one of their precious Jedi.

No. That wouldn't do at all.

Middle class Coruscanti still had too many morals about them. He needed to go lower.

So he continued down, weaving between the milling bodies of the people in the street. Even with the sea of people going in every conceivable direction, Jaq managed to follow the route he'd previously memorized with relative ease. It didn't take him long to locate the alleyway that led to his access elevator of choice.

The doors opened within moments, allowing him to cautiously step in, followed by two middle aged women. The women chatted animatedly in what sounded like Corellian as the elevator groaned, lurched and plummeted downwards. Admittedly, Jaq was marginally envious of their seeming obliviousness to the fact that they were in a metal box, essentially free falling towards a very sticky end if anything went wrong. No, no. Whatever they were saying in Corellian must have been fascinating, life altering and hilarious, he mused darkly- because they paid the rapid descent no heed.

With another shuddering groan the lift stopped. As if nothing at all had happened the two women stepped out- never missing a beat in their conversation. Jaq shook his head as they walked away, turning in the other direction and trotting up the stairs that led to the street.

The hustle and bustle of the mid-city was gone, replaced by an ominous quiet. Here and there groups of people and aliens could be seen, though few people seemed to be venturing out alone at this time in the evening. The reliable overhead lighting of the levels above was replaced with a dimmer, more sparse set of overhead lights. More likely than not, in some parts of the lower-city, the residents lived and died in a dimly lit twilight of weak, false light.

Jaq shuddered at the idea, his fingers twitching towards the holster of his blaster. Reassured by the feel of the smooth Kath leather beneath his fingers, the man moved forward towards his destination of choice. This job wasn't one he'd have chosen for himself. It required several days planetside, in the middle of the Jedi's backyard. Too much could go wrong.

But what his Lords wanted...

They'd damn well get.

Down the street, exactly where his data pad had indicated it would be, a neon sign blinked- advertising rooms for a dirt cheap hourly rate, and a slightly higher nightly one. Such was life in the bowels of any urban planet. With a sigh, the Sith slipped into the establishment, unconsciously checking the corners and any places an enemy could come from. Behind the counter a toothless old Twi'lek woman eyeballed him with mild interest.

"I'd like a room."

"Five credits an hour, 20 credits a day." The woman told him slushily, her mouth working around her gums.

Jaq was relatively certain the haggard old Twi'lek would have a heart attack if he paid for more than a day at time, but he was willing to risk it- digging out 80 credits and placing them on the counter in front of the wrinkled blue monstrosity.

The woman's eyes bulged slightly at the sight of the money, probably more than she'd seen all month. Her lekku twitched in what Jaq classified as excitement, before she bounced away, all but skipping back with a key. An old fashioned key, to an old fashioned lock. How quaint.

"If you need anything, let me know deary." The woman crooned and winked, her lekku curling tighter around her shoulders

It took everything he had not to throw up.

* * *

The man dumped the contents of his bag onto the bed, mildly impressed about the cleanliness of the room (all things considered). Perhaps the old woman kept a couple rooms that were cleaned a bit more thoroughly than simply pulling the covers back up over whatever was congealing in the sheets for the customers that weren't hourly. Not a terrible strategy.

His blaster came off, followed by his vibro blade. It was only then, once the door was locked, and the room checked, and his weapons dispensed for the time being, that Jaq relaxed even marginally. Gathering his data pad into his lap, the man sat cross legged on the bed, going over the file on his target for the millionth time.

She was young. Even if he hadn't had her age printed right in front of him, the images he had of her made it evident. He scrolled down, reading and rereading her stats.

The brown eyes that stared back at him from his datapad practically told her story for her. She was green, not fully trained, an orphan Padawan. Her Master had been killed in battle, leaving her grievously injured and with no where to go. The girl had been shipped to Dantooine to recover, and then back to Coruscant. Presumably, she would soon be reassigned to a new Master and sent back into the fray.

Unfortunately for her, she'd done something to attract the attention of _his _Masters. With her own conveniently out of the picture.

An untrained Padawan, full of anger at the recent death of her mentor and her subsequent reassignment- all alone in the world.

Jaq smiled, reclining back onto the pillows.

This was almost too perfect.

* * *

**_THE CHIMAERA- INTERDICTOR CLASS SITH DESTROYER_**

**_13:00 Galactic Standard Time_**

Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith was a patient man.

When it suited him. Unfortunately, it did not suit him at all right now.

He paced in front of the veiwport as his men looked on nervously, his cloak trailing behind him with a serpentine hiss on the noiseless bridge.

"You mean to tell me that after two weeks, Bastila Shan's whereabouts are still unknown?" The Sith asked, his mask distorting the already deadly question into an inhuman snarl.

"My Lord, it's the Jedi... they keep moving her!" The officer in question gulped out, his voice rising a couple of octaves in nervousness. "She's never in one place long enough to-"

A gurgling noise replaced the officer's stammering, and almost instantly the man began to claw at his throat- leaving long bloody gouges where the Sith uniform didn't cover. Revan watched for a moment with apparent interest, tilting his head ever so slightly as the crunching of vertebrae filled the otherwise silent room.

"It seems plausible to me, that the Jedi would move their most valuable weapon from place to place, to avoid detection." The Sith Lord murmured, his back still to the now motionless officer. "Don't you think?"

The only response was the muffled thud of a body hitting the floor. Everyone in attendance shifted nervously, watching their Lord raptly.

Revan was a patient man, but he didn't suffer fools.

"Captain." He murmured, his tone betraying nothing of his previous anger.

"Yes, Lord Revan?" The grizzled officer replied, snapping to attention immediately.

"Send for my apprentice, comm in the Admirals. We have matters to discuss." Bastila was the only thing holding his forces at bay. If his agents couldn't get her whereabouts out of their Jedi targets, measures would have to be taken to see to it that they found the slippery Padawan. He'd had enough of chasing the little Jedi all over the outer rim, only to be staved off at the last moment by her battle meditation.

The man swept from the bridge without waiting for an answer, mulling over the Bastila problem as he strode back towards his quarters.

The Padawan reminded him vaguely of Meetra, in an odd way. He'd sent his General into plenty of costly firefights, with nothing but the assurance that the bulk of his forces would swoop in to save the day once she'd drawn the attention of the Mandalorians. She refused to die, even when it would have certainly been more convenient for everyone involved. Instead, the crafty brat dogged Mandalore across the galaxy and back, nipping at his heels and herding him into Revan's larger force time and time again.

A fun strategy, unless it was being used on you.

His hands curled into fists at the thought of Meetra. Her fear of letting go of the teachings of the Jedi, teachings she'd doubted just as much as he and Malak had- had been her undoing. She couldn't see past the black and white, even when it was slapping her in the face. Instead of joining them in uniting the Galaxy, she'd chosen to run back to the Jedi Council with her tail between her legs. No doubt hoping they'd fix her, the Jedi were supposed to be merciful after all.

From what he gathered, she'd been shown Jedi mercy first hand. A scoff pulled from his lips.

_He_ had let her live, gone so far as to send her back to the Jedi when that was what she'd wanted. _He _had forbid Malak to harm her, despite his apprentice's strong desire to end her life in a brutal, slow fashion. _He_ would have found a way to fix her. He would have-

The man quickly removed himself from that line of thought, turning back to the problem at hand.

Bastila Shan had to be removed. One way or another. Four of his elite Sith Assassins were in the field, targeting Jedi that might know what ship the pesky Padawan was stationed on. With the information (no matter how useless) that had been given to him today, they could rule out several vessels in the fleet. In battle, he could feel her... but by then it was too late. They needed to know where she was going into a fight, not after she'd settled into her power.

Surprise was the key.

If he had his way Padawan Shan wouldn't know what hit her.

**A/N:** **Sorry for the wait, school started kicking my butt. Starting to pull in some more familiar faces. As always, reviews are my personal brand of heroin ;). **


End file.
